


Moon's Shadow

by Walor



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Alien/Human Relationships, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Breeding, Captivity, Come Inflation, Dubious Science, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Pregnancy, Fuck Or Die, Giant Alien Cocks - All Aboard, Guy is sassy, Impregnation, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Experimentation, Multi, Not Beta Read, Oviposition, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Predator/Prey, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Difference, Starvation, Stomach Bulge, forced mating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walor/pseuds/Walor
Summary: No ring, miles underground with only your drill sergeant to talk to, Guy thinks he hit the jackpot for the shit lottery. Turns out he has a bigger payday coming than he knows just around the corner.
Relationships: Arkillo/Guy Gardner, Arkillo/Kilowog/Guy Gardner, Guy Gardner/Kilowog
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Moon's Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSecondCircle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSecondCircle/gifts).



> Not beta we die like nem

**0900 - Intake** **  
****  
**He shouldn’t be alive, but disappointment is an old friend who’s found its way to him once more.  
  
There’s far too much pain clouding his mind for him to be dead. The stone against his cheek is coarse and cold, dust or ash covering his cracked lips and dry tongue. There are no lights above him and he thinks, for a moment, his assessment of death is wrong and he has been buried alive. He can’t breathe well enough and there is a hard pressure that consumes his entire body in one terrible vice grip. Panicking, he attempts to claw at the space around him, imagining piles of dirt raining down on his face, filling his throat and lungs until there is nothing left to do but _choke-_   
  
Something, warm and big, presses down on his back. Quite suddenly, the dirt burying him blows away, back into the sea of pitch black that fills his vision. He tries to open his eyes, but the action is in vain, they do not follow his order.   
  
“Guy,” a deep, alien voice speaks to him quietly. _Kilowog._ “Do not move.”   
  
Though the pain is immense and his frantic struggle fueled by adrenaline has not yet worn off, relief keeps him down. A voice he knows, someone he trusts. He stays against the cool stone, breathing in ash and dust, one or the other, through a stuffy nose. Broken? Maybe. Everything aches the more awareness comes, each body part checking in one at a time. Ten toes, ten fingers, four limbs, one head, or two if you count the southern one. _Still got it, Gardner._ _  
_ _  
_ Beside him, his former drill sergeant shuffles. After a minute something solid presses against his mouth. It’s instinct that tilts his head back.   
  
“Only water,” Kilowog sounds further away. “Come on. Drink now.” Guy does obediently. Never been so grateful for water when it cools the burn he has in his throat. For a second, feels a bit better too.   
  
“Easy now, only a bit.” His eyes are still shut, he can’t seem to get them to open. Trying to do so only earns him a flash of pain that subsides when he stops trying. The water is taken away from his mouth. “Do not fight it. Sleep for now.”   
  
So he does.   
  
**2200 - Five Days** **  
****  
**The swelling around his eyes has more or less faded. It no longer hurts to open them entirely, but his vision is still unfocused and fuzzy around the edges. However, to his assessment, there are no broken bones or anything entirely debilitating. One of the few good signs. Unfortunately, that is where the good news stops. There have been plenty of bad, cryptic things that Guy has been forced to think about, as he can do nothing more than that most of the time. There is nothing else for them to do but sit.  
  
They, meaning himself and Kilowog, are being held in a cell made entirely of stone. It is wide enough, but barely, to hold the two of them and possibly a third person around Guy’s size. There are no beds or furniture. There is only a simple bucket in the corner that the two of them use as a latrine. That is about as far as their accommodations go. Their captors do not seem to mind, whoever they are, that Guy is on the precipice of bored madness the longer the hours stretch on. After all there is no way to tell time, the cell is dark, the hallway outside their cell is too.   
  
There are no other prisoners, at least being held where they are. Guy spent the first hour of consciousness yelling through the bars to try and make contact, and when that yielded nothing, expletives until his voice went hoarse. Wherever they are, they are without allies and whoever has them doesn’t care to silence his big mouth.   
  
“They want us alive,” Kilowog says. “That is good, for you.”   
  
It’s just a little tease, but Guy finds himself smiling anyway. Kilowog has kept himself guarded throughout the length of time they’ve spent in solitary. There is an occasional conversation, mostly when food is dropped off through a port in the door. Who should eat more, who should drink more. Kilowog is as self-sacrificing as Guy is, and when Guy was weaker but refused to allow Kilowog to starve himself, he would be forced fed by the giant corpsman. It’s nice to hear Kilowog talk, joke even.   
  
“Maybe they’re deaf, that’s why we never hear them.”   
  
Kilowog snorts and disagrees with Guy’s assumption. It was worth a shot. Considering the only entertainment worthwhile are strange hypotheses of their new living quarters, Guy tends to make a lot. Some of them Kilowog smiles at and humors for at least a short length of time, others he quickly snuffs out. It depends on the mood or how little Kilowog has slept the night before. Guy sleeps the most out of the two of them and Kilowog has refused, adamantly, to use the bed.   
  
“I don’t have any cooties,” Guy had told him. “Sleep somewhere comfortable for once.”   
  
Kilowog had glared at him and shook his head. “There is not as much oxygen here as on Earth. You have no ring. Sleep, I will not have you weaken yourself on my watch.”   
  
Self-sacrificing bastard, but Guy takes the bed anyway. It would be more damaging not to use it and be stubborn for no reason.   
  
**??? - 8 Days** **  
****  
**Guy starts to put together a timeline of events from what he can of his hazy memories. He quickly rules out their captors of being from Earth, as Guy had been several solar systems away when he was taken. Even that, the capture, is not exactly clear in his memories. Kilowog fares no better in his recall of the situation, in fact, he had been on a whole other planet in another solar system when it had happened.  
  
Both remember their rings flashing a warning sign, some strange and foreign code neither knew the meaning of, before the protective shielding from their rings had disappeared. Kilowog had been on a planet with an atmosphere, Guy had not been. One of the last things he can recall to any extent was tearing at his throat, choking on no air.   
  
The cell has oxygen, from what they both can tell. They have no rings, but are able to understand one another which means somewhere there is a universal translator nearby or they would not be able to converse with the same amount of ease.   
  
“It means they are confident,” Kilowog says. “To allow us something we could use to our advantage.”   
  
“Or they’re just idiots.” Guy has always been a glass-half-full, well, guy. Nothing will change that. “We should come up with a signal. Bird calls? Or would that be too Batman?”   
  
Kilowog doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even spare Guy an exasperated glare at the pointed target of his joke. They’ve been talking for days now, at least that is what Guy can only assume based on the drops their captors make. Food always comes at a certain time, once, normally when both of them are too exhausted to keep watch. He marks that as “morning.”   
  
Their captors, from what Guy can tell the few times he sees them, are not human. They are far too tall to be anything close. They wear shrouds and strange armor that covers every inch of their bodies that may hide purple skin and gills for all Guy knows, but they are humanoid with hands that each have five fingers. Their appearances are few and in between, normally purposefully revealing themselves to empty out the bucket and shock Guy within an inch of his life.   
  
Which, admittedly, they only do after he tries to attack them. Kilowog simply watches and barks at Guy to stand still. It takes him a few days to accept that whoever these people are it would be smarter for him to stay out of trouble.   
  
After all, neither of them are able to recall their rings. It shouldn’t be a difficult task either. The rings, in essence, at their core of creations of green light and the manifestation of willpower. Like any light construct, willing it into existence as a temporary stand in, is not something unimaginable. Yellow and red light rings had not been originally created at the behest of a universal governing body for the sake of keeping peace. They had been, for lack of a better word, similarly willed into existence by the respective founders.   
  
Now, Guy is no Harold “all-powerful-greatest-green-lantern-ever-blah-blah” Jordan, but if there were a way to summon his ring back, he would have found it already. Worse is that Kilowog, one of the most resourceful and accomplished Lantern corpsmen, had not been able to manage such a feat either. Whatever that means, the destruction of the lantern battery on Oa or the ceased existence of green light itself become extremely possible scenarios. The only other explanation, being the containment of rings by a greater wielder of willpower or another emotional corps is as worrisome as it is possible. However, no members of the prison guard bear an insignia that makes them allies with any known group.   
  
At least, for now, Guy doesn’t have to worry about starvation and dehydration. The food is palatable and free of anything that could be described as mold or decay. Water, though high in alkalinity, is constantly refilled and placed in a stone trough near the cell door. There are no showering or bathing equipment, but Guy, if he feels dirty, is able to scoop water with his hands to wash himself down. Kilowog does much of the same, but at a much less consistent level. The amount of water it would take to rinse himself would be far too damaging to their small supply of clean water. So he only does so when it is absolutely necessary.   
  
Lately however, it becomes far more pressing. Guy has gotten used to far more pungent smells with the number of alien species he’s encountered since becoming a GL. However, Kilowog starts putting off muskier notes every day they stay in limbo. It becomes so powerful that it rouses Guy from his sleep, leaving him choking on the thick air, gripping his nose and burying his head in their torn up mattress. He tries not to take his frustration out on Wog, it’s clear the other Lantern is embarrassed as all Hell that he’s getting so smelly.   
  
“Listen I can go without water for a few days, just wash yourself off, damn.” Guy finally cracks a few days later. It’s not an awful smell, not entirely, but it reminds Guy far too much of post-football game locker rooms where he was high off adrenaline like the rest of his team, an undercurrent of arousal beneath it all. He’s far too ashamed to tell Wog exactly why the smell bothers him so much, especially when that’s the memory that comes to mind.   
  
“It would not help,” Kilowog tells him. “It happens every few years during the lunar eclipse on Bolovax Vik. It is a season called Lunosikix, and there is nothing I can do but let it pass.”   
  
Guy hates to be a whiner, but if he has to be in this damn cell with Wog for longer than a few more days- he won’t be able to hide his own growing “problem.” Definitely not ready to have that conversation with Kilowog about human arousal.   
  
**??? - 3 Weeks** **  
****  
**Guy is asleep when they come for Kilowog.  
  
When he finally wakes his mouth tastes like cotton and the headache behind his eyes makes it hard to stand without pain. Drugged, most likely in the food. Kilowog had given him the lion’s share of their breakfast/dinner before sleep, and he’d most likely got twice the dosing. He considers rolling over and letting sleep drag him back into gentle darkness, until he hears the muted roar within the room.   
  
The men, Guy assumes, simply for ease of addressing the others in his mind as something aside from “them” come in the morning. Or, the middle of the night for all he knows. All that is true is that they come, waking him from his deep and heavy sleep with shouts and growls. Clearly, they expected Kilowog to be as out of it as Guy was. They did not realize that they would have to fight a far more conscious Bolovaxian.   
  
What they say is lost, muddled and muffled underneath layers of sleep and the effects of the alien drug. All that translates is panicked, higher voices from the figures clothed in shadows and the deep, rumbling snarls from Kilowog. Guy stands, pushing himself up with his elbows and nearly falling onto his face. Nausea, wicked and debilitatingly, slams into his gut before the fist that cracks on down atop his head. His vision whites out. When it finally returns, he is alone, far more aware than he would have ever liked.   
  
It’s then, really, it occurs to Guy how much he had depended on Kilowog’s presence. Even the sudden lack of scent leaves him cold and empty, slapped awake into somber sobriety.   
  
Now he is alone in a cell far too big for just one man. There is no one to talk to. No one to keep him from throwing his hands out of the cell and trying to grab passing guards. If he succeeds he gets shocked so hard he nearly flies to the back of his cell. They do not come in. They just withhold food until Guy considers eating the soft foam of his limp mattress. Only then do they give him a small bowl of gruel.   
  
It doesn’t stop him from trying again and again until finally he is threatened with the blade of an axe. Nearly loses his hand that time and finally decides against his small act of disobedience. He cannot formulate a plan of escape if he injures himself so tremendously. There is no need for him to help disable his own body. The others are doing a fine enough job as is.   
  
It’s impossible to tell how long he goes alone in that cell. The food drops come further in between. Even then sometimes the tiny morsels of food are left during Guy’s deep sleep. No idea how long it sat growing cold on the stone floor. Now that Kilowog is gone there is hardly enough food to keep hunger at bay and the water supply is half of what it was before. The vicious pain of starvation leads to delusions of shadowy but familiar figures within his cell that promise comfort, but fade if he gets too close. It’s enough to nearly drive him insane.   
  
It almost does.   
  
**???? - ????** **  
****  
**Solitary confinement is hell for one’s psyche.  
  
Guy’s been tortured, brainwashed, and manipulated before. The Phantom Zone had no distinct passing of time or tangible space to ground himself when he was trapped within it. Prisoner, for a long time, of Zod.   
  
It’s hard to completely wipe away all of Zod’s toiling around with the gray matter of his brain. Some of that conditioning remains, usually well-buried beneath a dozen coping methods he had been taught in JL sponsored therapy. He starts to see the shape of Zod’s figure in the darker shadows of the cell, far too large for Guy and his chattering fear.   
  
Days or, possibly, hours go by when he hits rock bottom. Food comes and Guy ignores it, desperate for some ounce of control over his now tiny daily routine. Hunger fuels his hallucinations and wakes once to Atrocitus standing over his bedside, having come to kill him for what Guy had done to the Red Lanterns. With no ring to protect him, to shine light where there is none, Guy lashes out at a phantom.   
  
When he finally realizes there is no one there his knuckles are split open and bleeding, fingernails ripped from their beds scratching at the stone walls. One hand burns with a fiery, sharp ache that must be from a hairline fracture beneath the skin.   
  
Hunger strikes will do him no good. Sitting alone in the dark, stubbornly acting out because it satisfies the need for rebellion in captivity hinders the little strength he has left. Kilowog had spent their days together talking and meditating. Guy had tried pulling the stones from the walls. Patience had never been his forte, but now there is nothing left to do but be so.   
  
So, Guy talks to the bed. He puts his pillow beneath it and calls it Wilson because he’s in the X-rated version of Castaway. There are a number of things he’s always wished he could learn so he does them now. While there is no time for him to try and learn how to play piano, and that’s without including the lack of a keyboard, he practices body manipulation. With control of every other thing stripped from him, hunger and thirst being the biggest, the only thing he _can_ control is his body, specifically his muscles.   
  
He trains and trains. With what little memory he has of the motions, he practices yoga, flowing awkwardly through the moves the first few days after beginning. It becomes easier so he adds on more. Breathing techniques, martial art forms, flexibility through gymnastics, anything that does not give him a moment to wallow in his misery. It keeps him focused. It keeps him distracted from hopelessness. Most importantly, however, it keeps him ready.   
  
For what, he does not yet know.   
  
**???? - Release** **  
****  
**Unlike with Kilowog, Guy does not receive a dosing of drugs in his food. Instead, his captors open the door and come for him.  
  
In the middle of stretching as he prepares himself for a day of split training, Guy’s all too happy to put those limber muscles to use. The lack of food and confinement has made him weaker and a little softer than he once was. However, having grown used to the new level of energy, lower with such a miniscule diet, he fights furious and angry. Adrenaline picks up the slack, helping Guy last longer than he would have without it, tearing at any scrap of cloth or limb that gets far too close. It brings an immense feeling of joy when he manages to rip off one sparkling wrist guard.   
  
It’s a quick fight. Guy gets one punch across the face of a hooded and clothed “other” before two more work their way around him. All it takes is a poke from the speared end of one of their rods to shock him with more volts than a power plant. An entire galaxy flies around his head like a cartoon cat getting slapped in the face by a muscular dog.   
  
When he comes to, they are dragging him across the stone floors by his arms, cuffed above his head. There’s a cold, weighted band around his neck. Looks like these guys have their i’s dotted and t’s crossed. No taking chances, even with a depowered human like him.   
  
He’s flattered.   
  
Despite being awake, and then telling his babysitters he’s able to walk, they don’t let him up. Content to drag him as far as they plan to go, which, by the feel of his back, must be a long ways away. They pass through various halls, all of stone, all identical. Guy tries to make sense of where they are going, but nothing really makes sense. They take him left, then right, then right, then left, the only thing changing is the direction. Even the stones rubbing against his back are predictable, seemingly the same with all of their divots. The effects of the taser are still present in the front of his head.   
  
No doubt the strange confusion that he can’t seem to completely shake free from is an unpleasant after effect. Nice. When does anything in this backwards world ever go to plan? Especially not now ever since the world went to hell in a handbasket. Or his immediate world rather than the entire universe. Last he checked, Darkseid hadn’t fucked all known existence with his massive alien dick. His followers were a lot more bug-like than humanoid after the Parademon transformation and the ones carrying him now are distinctly human.   
  
At least, as far as he can tell.   
  
His train of thought snaps when a bright beam of sunlight quite suddenly falls across his face. After being in the dark for so long, Guy forgets the rules of not staring into the sun. The sky is a bright and welcoming blue, cloudless and hot, Guy nearly starts to sob at the sight of its magnificence.   
  
The “others” drag him out of an open door attached to a building he has never seen in his life. It is a tall, terrifying spire of gold and adobe, at least on the immediate outside. The further Guy looks up, the less sand and more metal panels stick out from among the outer shielding of adobe and gold. Nothing more than a giant, imposing steel shard that’s seemingly been driven into the dirt. It’s strange, he swears he has seen it somewhere before.   
  
Thinking about that for long does not happen. The “others” drop him onto the sandy ground, taking their places on either side of him, stiff straight and at attention. Still restrained by a collar and cuffs around his wrists, Guy stares at the sky for one, long minute, then he rolls onto his side. There, to his right is, to his surprise, a rather exotic seating area. Exotic probably is not the right word for what he sees, deceptively alien might be a better fit. The seating area reminds him of something he’d see in period films about ancient Greece or Persia, but the carpets spread out along the sand are sewn with unfamiliar patterns and fabric. There are several dozen, lying side by side where a number of decorative chaises are positioned all beneath the cover of a canopy built from some alien straw.   
  
There are a number of “others” similarly garbed as the two that drug him out of his dungeon. They stand on the outer edge of the seating area, hidden beneath their dark robes shielding them from the sun. Beneath the canopy, lying among the chaises, Guy sees an otherworlder he recognizes by the conniving pencil-thin mustache and maroon skin.   
  
Sinestro regards him with as much interest as a human to an ant that’s found its way onto your arm. There’s a pinch in his brow Guy knows instantly he is the cause for and a profound look of disappointment settles across his features. Dressed in blinding yellow, it doesn’t take a genius to know that whatever happened to Kilowog and Guy’s rings had no effect on yellow ones.   
  
“He lives,” Sinestro turns to his companion upon the chaise. Whoever it is Guy can’t make out any distinguishing features. It is another “other” only this one’s robes are considerably brighter than the ones Guy’s interacted with over the past several days? Months? Where the others in the cells wore dark shrouds of blues, blacks, and grays, this one has donned armor of gold while a white shroud obscures their face. Whoever it is turns their head a fraction to regard Sinestro.   
  
“You asked and I answered,” the other has a deep, raspy voice. Guy does not recall any species he’s interacted with possessing the same quality. “Have you been satisfied?”   
  
Sinestro clicks his tongue. He tilts his head and looks over Guy. There’s a relief there, most likely due to the fact Guy is, for the first time, clothed in front of him. A shame the tyrannical big-head doesn't know how to appreciate art when he sees it. “No. I would have preferred he not survived the madness.”   
  
What the hell, Sindy? Guy thought they had a thing going on, a little hate-you-fuck-you relationship that was really beginning to blossom. How things change. “Love you too.”   
  
The alien regards him with a curl of his lip, a distinct twitch of his upper lip showing the barest hint of sharp canines. Though, that is all the reaction Sinestro shows him. Guy is mostly ignored, Sinestro far more keen on talking with the unknown companion than sparing Guy any sort of attention. “What about the other one?”   
  
“He has been in isolation for some time now. Unfortunately, he has become rather despondent and prone to acts of extreme aggression. Without the aid of other telepathic species to provide mental stimulation and the lack of physical contact, he has become openly hostile to those he considers strangers.” The hooded alien turns toward Guy, or at least, he assumes turns toward him. It’s hard to tell where those eyes may or may not be looking under that mask of his. “There is no telling how he will respond to those whom he knows but cannot recognize in his current state.”   
  
Sinestro purses his lips. Whatever the question is and whomever either seem to be talking about escapes Guy’s understanding. The matter of the conversation sounds, at least from where Guy stands, dangerous but to Sinestro, in regards to the pinch of his brow, seems mildly inconvenienced. In fact, he looked a little more put off by seeing Guy well and alive than whatever troublesome experiment is going on elsewhere on this planet.   
  
“And this prolonged state of aggression is due to-” Sinestro leans back on his chaise, now turning to look over Guy. Of course, he realizes after a moment that he’s looking at Guy Gardner, and promptly ignores him again.   
  
“Most likely the instability of a cohesive mind meld with the lack of other species. They used to call the season “lunar madness” for a reason. It had been the collective mingling of consciousness that made sure they calm each other through this period of heightened adrenaline during the long eclipse of the planet’s two moons. It’s rather fascinating, Lord Sinestro, that despite the destruction of the planet, the “season” still happens.”   
  
“ _Fascinating,”_ Sinestro mimics, with a slow drawl. He tilts his head to the side and regards Guy where he’s still kneeling, for one moment sharing a conspiratorial look with him. A slight rolling of his eyes. Did Thaal-Fucking-Sinestro just give him the “get-a-load-of-this-guy” look? Incredible. If Guy manages to live to see another day he is telling the rest of the Lanterns about this until their ears fall off. “I hope you didn’t waste all of this time studying the inconsequential moon patterns for a planet that has been nothing but dust for the last two years.”   
  
Though Guy cannot see the other’s face, the hooded alien seems to curl in on himself, as if just realizing he is talking to Sinestro, the Lantern of Fear. “No, my Lord. It was merely a humorous anecdote during the study. I apologize for wasting your time, far too precious for my babbling.”   
  
“See that you don’t do anymore of it.” He motions with his hand. “What about the genetic matching? Were any of the batches successful with the crossbreeding?”   
  
Their speech is translated easily into English, no doubt with help from Sinestro’s ring. However, the contents of their conversation might as well be in some strange alien dialect from some far off planet in the depths of deep space. Guy’s spent quite a few times in Sinestro’s captivity undergoing different types of nefarious torture, privy to a number of annoying villanious monologues while bleeding out. Most of them, while overly dramatic and full of various hypocritical death sentences, it had a logical outline to follow. The fear machine is one example that comes to mind, though he had never heard of such a thing before Sinestro took him on a Disneyland-esque tour of the facilities housing it. Sure, he understands the draw to it when such an action goes hand-in-hand with stroking a massive ego and fueling a narcissistic personality. However, this is something he cannot follow along with, given the little information that’s concrete. There’s another prisoner, that much is obvious, and some kind of species-select sickness that is plaguing them.   
  
Guy starts to feel a little less confident the longer he remains on his knees.   
  
“Oh, yes, very successful actually,” the other perks up, in good spirits now that his misstep has been forgotten. “Probably due to mutability of Vornian genes, having to be so when it comes to the number of divisions within the planet’s primary species. Asexual reproduction over the years have made it far more flexible in feotal development.”   
  
Vornian, now that rings a bell, Arkillo. It doesn’t bring much light to the strange center of the discussion, however. Why would Sinestro be interested in the reproductive abilities of Vornians? Unless, Arkillo’s spent the last month locked away because Sinestro’s decided to start experimenting on his own second-in-command.   
  
Sinestro, unbothered, nods. “What of the hosts?”   
  
There’s a pregnant pause, the other leaning back in his chaise, quiet in sudden thought. “The mating process is extremely dangerous, many of the participants didn’t withstand the initial locking. Many of them tore so extremely successful implantation of the Vornian ovum never occurred. The only true implantation had been done medically, but without a sealed plug to keep the embryos inside, most of them were expelled before much embryonic development occurred.”   
  
Now Sinestro growls. “None of them took? At all?”   
  
The other fumbles with their hands in their lap. “My Lord, there is a simple solution. Vornians do not _need_ to lay their clutch in an outside party. Most of them do because in a society of violence, like on Vorn, it would be dangerous to be carrying when one could be attacked by their own species at any time. But, because, my Lord, your Vornian has a ring, such things are not a concern. I have no doubt you would get your desired crossbreeds.”   
  
“My second is far too important to this cause to be used as a fallback plan for something that, apparently, has not been successful.” Sinestro snorts. “We will just have to use someone else.”   
  
That’s when Sinestro looks at him, _really,_ looks at him. A slow moving gaze that takes every little divot and scar in Guy’s skin before landing on his face. He smiles at Guy, a slip of his mouth that shows off his feline-like teeth. While the conversation bears little weight in the sense that Guy cannot, for the life of him, determine the end goal when it comes to Vornian breeding (besides thinking that Arkillo must be having some severe wet dreams if Sinestro’s outsourced his frustration) the look that Sinestro gives him sets off an alarm bell like a tornado siren.   
  
“Oh Sindy,” Guy croons, masking the gnawing fear in his gut with a high falsetto. “I didn’t know you thought of me like _that.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Devious plan aside, Sinestro’s smile morphs into a sneer from Guy’s pointed tease. Apparently, the thought of Guy in any kind of _intimate_ sense is something Sinestro has never tried to spend an ounce of time on. That’s a shame, really, because Guy is a very decent bed partner and there are things he can do that would impress the space dictator if they were ever unlucky enough to have to sleep with one another for some reason. Not that Guy is willing to share his good tricks with someone so unappreciative of good taste.   
  
“Lord Sinestro,” the other interrupts. “While I share your frustration, I must insist you think about this rationally. A human is far too small for such experiments, there would be no point besides unneeded-”   
  
“Suffering?” Sinestro quirks a brow. “Is that supposed to dissuade me? Because Gardner might suffer?”   
  
The other pauses. “I...I apologize, my Lord, I see now my mistake.”   
  
Yes, right. What was the other thinking? It’s Sinestro’s one true purpose--besides stalking Hal obsessively and making sure the entire universe bent the knee to a fear-driven militia--to see Guy through the worst torture imagineable. Guy has to roll his eyes. “I think you might be allergic to originality there, Sin. Ever thought of branching out? Taking the company in a fresh direction?”   
  
Sinestro for the most part, ignores Guy. He stands from the chaise, brushing his Lantern flight suit free of any stray specks of sand. “See that both are made ready. One at a time. I don’t need the beast mounting my second because you all couldn’t keep him restrained for the swap.”   
  
The other is quick to rise from their seat. When they stand, they easily tower over Sinestro, far larger than originally assumed from where they sat. There is a pause as the other proceeds to lean down in a slight but formal bow. “The Vornian’s safety will be the main priority during this process. No harm will come to him.”   
  
Guy can’t stop himself. “He has a name, you know. Maybe use it every once in a while?”   
  
Sinestro sighs. “Thank you, Guy Gardner, for your intelligent input. If I were you I would be conserving my strength about now. You are going to need it.”   
  
With a slight nod in his direction, the guards on either side of Guy leave his side. Walking over the spread of sand, they join their leader keeping a polite distance of two feet behind them. They, for the most part, ignore Sinestro and Guy now that they have been left alone. Marching back in a triangular formation, they re-enter the tower before a door slides free from the wall and seals the doorway shut behind them. Sinestro, a meter away, huffs an irritated breath and mutters something beneath his breath. Nothing good, no doubt.   
  
He starts to rise, a thin haze of yellow light encircling him. Guy curses himself for not asking the most obvious question at the start.   
  
“So, you still have a working ring, huh? I wonder why that is.” Barely a half inch off the ground, Sinestro pauses. Slowly, he tilts his head toward where Guy is still on the ground.   
  
“Yes, I wonder,” Sinestro actually smirks at him. “Strange, isn’t it? All across the universe and there are no working green lantern rings. Interesting.” Floating, Sinestro comes closer, tilting his head as he looks over Guy only stopping when Guy’s forehead meets his knees. Sinking down, Sinestro crouches in front of him, yellow light still encompassing him, _still_ levitating off the ground.   
  
Guy grits his teeth. “Real strange. Almost like something’s happened to the battery.”   
  
Sinestro feigns surprise, though he hardly puts any effort into it. “Why Gardner, you really are smarter than you look.”   
  
“If you did something to the others I swear to _God,_ Sinestro, I will-” A hand cracks across his cheek. There’s no ring power behind it, or else his head might be somewhere rolling across the sand a mile away. However, it still stings both painful and humiliating. Guy’s eyes burn as he turns his head to regard Sinestro’s bored face.   
  
“Please, save your rambling for another day,” Sinestro rolls his eyes. “You will be pleased to know that despite my best efforts Jordan and Rayner have, for the present moment, been able to avoid capture. While that will not last for much longer, the universe is a large place without the aid of a power ring, I am sure it brings you some annoying level of calm.”   
  
It does, truly, the strain Guy had been holding onto since being detained with Kilowog, before being separated, lifts slightly. “Stewart?”   
  
That makes Sinestro brighten. He stands back up, straightening himself out. Holding up his ring hand, he starts to form a beam of yellow light. “Has been in custody of the Star Sapphires since the battery’s destruction. It seems he destroyed one of their member’s home planet some time ago.”   
  
“That was an accident, a very tragic accident.” Guy growls.   
  
Sinestro merely scoffs. The beam of yellow light forms at the end into a strange jagged pattern. Guy flinches back when it approaches him. Sinestro ignores Guy completely, instead, makes the light slink around Guy’s waist before finding the manacles keeping his hands together. There is a soft click and the light disappears right as the cuffs fall from Guy’s wrists. “I have no interest in Stewart’s supposed innocence. He is being watched, that is all that matters to me.”   
  
Suspicion would normally be the dominant emotion in such a situation, Sinestro freeing him. In fact, he should ask what that’s about before he does anything else. But after weeks spent in captivity and listening to Sinestro drone on for the last few minutes, anger swallows any mental alarm bells telling him to be cautious. “What about the rest of the Green Lanterns? Oa after the destruction of the battery? Fucking tell me Sinestro-!”   
  
“You should understand, by now, you are in no place to be making such demands of me. For all I know, Gardner, the rest of the corps that have not yet perished from exposure in the vacuum of space will be soon dead. I would much sooner worry about how you will fare in the coming minutes.” Sinestro moves up and out of the way of the oncoming punch Guy practically telegraphs with his sudden lunge. Looking almost bored, Sinestro grabs one of the chaises with the help of his ring. With a quick pull of his wrist, he brings the furniture close enough for him to take a seat on it.   
  
“I could say the same thing about you, once I pull you down from there. It’ll be a lotta fun, like a pinata.” Wrists free, Guy surveys the landscape. There is no vegetation, at least within immediate eyesight, just sandy dunes and rock formations. The only portion of civilized space is right behind him, the giant imposing tower, everything else seems rather, well, dead. It almost looks like the sun-scorched surface of Tatooine from _Star Wars._ Any moment Jawas could be rolling over the hills looking to score some credits off some droidless idiot who needed an extra set of mechanical hands. “Where the fuck am I?”   
  
“On the moon base of Tartarus Seven, one of the many under Administer Lash’s rule. Unfortunately, he was not available to bear witness to today’s activities. I am sure he would have loved a reintroduction.” Lash, that’s a Yellow Lantern Guy would be grateful to never see again. Out of all the men and women that have tortured him, there are plenty he would sooner get in line for again. Hell, he’d rather Dementor change him into the opposite sex and do fashion shows for the rest of his natural life.   
  
“A shame.” Guy squints against the harsh beams of the sun. “Why don’t you come back down here and I’ll give you a “hug” to send his way.”   
  
“I shall stay here, thank you, Guy Gardner. The space is necessary to not incur any more violence than what is to be expected.” Sinestro leans back on the cushions, relaxing as he surveys Guy from where he’s stuck, flightless and ringless, on the sandy ground. “Don’t look so glum, you are doing the Yellow Lantern corps an enormous favor. Consider this payment as time served for your treachery all of these past years.”   
  
“I was a fucking good guy!” There is nothing to throw at Sinestro, no rocks nearby to chuck at him like eggs at a house. The insanity of the comments is beyond ridiculous, Guy can’t believe he gets caught up in such an inane conversation. “So now what? You’re going to leave me right here, free, to cause whatever mischief I want? Despite all my ‘nefarious’ meddling?”   
  
“Seeing as there is no way for you to break into the Administrator's tower without proper clearance, you have no power ring to aid you, and that the surface is devoid of life since the population resides two miles beneath it, yes I will leave you free right here.” Sinestro looks back toward the tower, clicking his tongue softly. “Though, I doubt you will be the only living organism on its surface for much longer.”   
  
Cryptic, nice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”   
  
Sinestro looks down at Guy, a pleased smirk on his face. “Company is coming.”   
  
Though there is no sound, Guy can see from the bright shifting of sunlight over metal, the movement coming from the tower. It’s hard to tell, but there is a rising line of darkness that grows longer with each passing second. A door, rising up from beneath the sand that reveals the entrance to the tunnels burrowed far beneath the planet surface. Only there is a figure that stands inside the small entryway that grows in size the further the door opens. They are several meters away, but Guy can pick apart every different scale on them from where he is standing. Arkillo ducks beneath the door and stalks out onto the sand.   
  
His eyes, normally a dark and vivid orange, gleam milky yellow in the sunlight as he steps out onto the sand. Guy narrows his eyes at the lack of undersuit all Sinestro Corps members wear beneath their ring’s armor, in fact there is nothing at all.   
  
“I didn’t think you were one to copy trends, but I’m flattered, big guy,” he calls out, jovial despite his suspicion at Arkillo’s slow approach into the open. Guy knows Arkillo for his unwavering confidence in his fighting, and has several dozen healed wounds to prove it. Seeing him slowly move outside, especially after everything Sinestro and Lash’s lackey discussed, he’s not feeling the love in this Denny’s tonight. Arkillo doesn’t respond to his joke either, more or less letting his gaze fall on Guy.   
  
Sinestro hums softly, from above him. “It’s amazing you humans made it through evolution on your planet if this is how you respond to present danger. By jesting with a Vornian in breeding season.”   
  
“Yeah, well I’m not a Vornian,” Guy has clothes. Sure, they’re the sheer and very light rags given to him every several days, but they cover just enough to keep Guy modest. And, to his own surprise, feeling all the more protected from that pupil-less gaze with a scrap of cloth in front of his privates. “So I don’t think that applies.”   
  
“Oh, Gardner,” Sinestro smirks, cat-like and devious. “Vornians breed through combat and domination. Do you think species matters to a creature that only needs an incubator to keep their parasitic eggs warm?”   
  
Well, when an alien dictator puts it like _that,_ there really is no confusing what the goal of this “exercise” is. Sinestro wants to see Guy dominated, completely humiliated by one of the few yellow lanterns he’s actually grown to respect over the several years he’s been a GL. There is no reason as to why Guy expected anything more of Sinestro, but somehow even his low expectations are crushed by an uncaring boot at that revelation. As if a narcissistic, ego-maniac could sink lower than mud, but Sinestro has a way of being just the right amount of jackass to hurt. Is this what they were keeping him alive for this entire time?   
  
Guy jolts when Arkillo suddenly falls forward, only just catching himself on his clawed hands, mouth opening as his massive tongue lolls out to brush across the sand. Panicked, Guy looks up at Sinestro, for what maybe help, he finds the Korugarian has flown far above until he is nothing more than a small speck in the perfect blue sky. He’s on his own officially now. Hesitantly, he takes a step back, keeping his eye on Arkillo as the massive Vornian trudges forward along the sand.   
  
Sucking in a deep breath, Arkillo raises his head and seems to completely lock on to Guy’s figure. Drool glistens on his massive canines as that tongue laps across the length of his muzzle.   
  
Turning on his heel, Guy bolts in the opposite direction, burning sand stinging the bottom of his feet. Behind him, loud thumping starts matching the same pace as the blood rushing in his ears.   
  
_Of all ways for my day to fucking end. Chased by an overgrown lizard across a desert about to get fucked to death. Perfect!_ _  
_ _  
_ Guy realizes the direness of his situation rather instantly. He has only two feet to run with, Arkillo is no doubt using all four. Arkillo grew up on a planet where it was kill or be killed, conquer or be conquered. Instincts are a powerful thing, and any ounce of friendship Guy managed to cultivate with the second-in-command will be trampled beneath age-old lessons. Arkillo is much faster and he is _gigantic,_ compared to Guy. Not that he’s about to call into doubt his ability to take on bigger opponents, he’s done that even without a ring. But, _but,_ a lot of those adversaries had intelligent minds Guy could take advantage of with manipulation.   
  
Arkillo, now, is nothing but one singular need, if what Sinestro said is to be believed. Guy won’t be able to play any mind games if there’s no mind to play with. There is really only one solution to this problem.   
  
One, the terrain is half sand dunes, half rocky cliffs and formations. Taking advantage of the environment is a necessity, Guy is smaller and more maneuverable than Arkillo is. Hiding in crevasses and caves that he can fit inside will be key to keeping out of Arkillo’s claws. Second, Guy will need to loop around and get back to the tower. The interior will provide more protection and cramped hallways to make it more difficult for Arkillo to move, not to mention possible distractions in the form of the guards and weapons he can loot. All he has to do, in the meantime, is keep himself calm and one step ahead of Arkillo.   
  
It helps that Sinestro has taken away Arkillo’s ring, or else this would have been over a lot quicker. Guy grits his teeth at the realization that Sinestro _wants_ Guy to run. He wants Arkillo to chase him down and dominate him, for what true reason, humiliation or his own amusement, Guy’s not sure. The only thing that he can be certain of is that Sinestro is a massive dickhead.   
  
The thumping grows louder behind him. Guy picks up his pace, swinging his arms furiously through the air to propel him forward as much as it will allow. Hair on the back of his neck starts to stand up, and Guy can _feel_ the slightest brush of slick flesh against his back. A giant grouping of rocks appears slowly from behind a dune, rising up and out of the sand. Pointed tips splitting open from the rest of the terrain, Guy can see where they break apart at the base, the smallest opening nothing but a void of black against bright golds and browns. Guy barrels toward it, hearing Arkillo’s thunderous footfalls gaining.   
  
He zigs and zags around other smaller boulders, hoping to throw off Arkillo’s pace just enough to gain some kind of lead. Behind him Arkillo ducks his head and cracks open a rock, shaking off the daze of pain from doing so. Guy bites his lip, hard enough blood drips down his chin and into the sand behind him. Arkillo does not stop, but his tongue does try and lap what it can from the sand as he passes.   
  
The cave draws near. Guy’s lungs burn from the effort, but he charges the entrance to the small cave, sweat pouring down his face. He snarls, loud and tinged with hysteria as he throws himself into the hole. He misses Ark’s outstretched hand by a second, hearing it slam against the rocks while Guy rights himself in the cramped cave. Arkillo roars, scratching at the rocky entrance, desperate to get inside.   
  
Panting, Guy leans against the wall and takes in a deep breath, forcing his racing heart to calm. It’s going to take some time to calm down. However, that does not mean he should be complacent. In front of him, Arkillo scratches and tears at the rock and, eventually, it will crumble beneath the Vornian’s strength sooner than he knows. The only thing he can do is follow the tight squeeze of the cave, dragging himself deeper inside the heart of the rock until the light has faded.   
  
The cave actually goes deeper than Guy originally thought from the outside. What appeared to be a mere shallow hole had actually turned into a small system of tunnels, all dead ends, but far enough underground that Arkillo’s clawing at the stone was distant and muffled. In fact, Guy actually manages to worm his way down, nestling his back against the rough rock and drift off. Tired from the sudden spike of adrenaline and the lack of decent sleep in his cell leaves him exhausted. Unwilling to go on until he regains some of his strength, he allows himself the small respite, drifting off for who knows how long. Only that when he opens his eyes Arkillo is not in front of him and the scratching has stopped.   
  
Sinestro hasn’t come looking for him to drag him out of his hiding spot which means that he doesn’t care how long it takes for Arkillo to catch him. That’s good, Guy can use Sinestro’s overconfidence as a tool. However, he doesn’t want to spend anymore time inside the system of tunnels. Despite Sinestro saying the surface was devoid of life doesn’t mean it wasn’t completely empty of non intelligent life. The sand worms from the movie _Tremors_ could exist in reality, especially on a moon like this. Moving out of his position, Guy looks over the tunnels, crosses off the ones he’s already explored and found nothing in, and chooses the one furthest from the entrance. It’s a tighter squeeze than the others, made for something a bit smaller than Guy’s thick frame.   
  
_I have got to lose some weight when I get off this miserable hellscape._ Even worse, is when his damn scrap of cloth his captors called clothes catches on some of the jagged rocks. He can’t reach back and free it from wherever it’s latched so he has to pull himself forward. The resulting rip isn’t a total surprise, but groans when he feels just how far it goes. The sudden exposure of cold air to his backside, all the way down to the rise of his cheeks is almost comically unfortunate.   
  
Thanks, masters of the universe. He sees whose side you’re truly on.   
  
Back now exposed, it’s a little harder to move through the tight crawl space in the tunnel. The rocks scratch at his skin, leaving cuts and scrapes the further he ventures forward. Turning back becomes out of the question, there is no way for him to turn around. In a panic that comes on maybe several hours after he began his descent--ascent? There’s no way to tell which way is up and what is down--Guy is assaulted by the memories of the slowly shrinking bubble Sinestro had once held him in. Heart thumping in his chest, Guy closes his eyes and imagines himself not trapped underground on a desolate moon, but beneath the piled up masses of an opposing football team tackle. It’s easier, strangely enough, to imagine that he is not surrounded by rock but instead the moving, yet solid bodies of dozens of men. His breath begins to steady, heart still tight in his chest, and he starts to begin his journey again. It helps immensely to believe he is not alone in a dark tunnel.   
  
Eventually, the cave begins to grow lighter. The dark expanse of shadows in various shades of black begin to lighten with warmer browns. At first, Guy assumes it’s just a change in the type of rock, before he remembers the surface is just a bunch of browns and beiges. Light, coming from somewhere, is beginning to chase away the darkness. He could kiss the fucking sun if he ever got a chance.   
  
Thirty minutes of clawing at the stone walls later, Guy finally reaches the source. A small crack in the rocks filtering in sunlight from the setting sun above. It takes a bit more time for him to climb up to the actual hole, freedom within his grasp. Sweat helps him slide through the tighter part of the tunnel, gripping the rough edge and pulling himself up. Pushing his head through the hole, Guy takes in a deep breath from the outside air.   
  
Nearly forgets about the current danger he is still in until a distant roar echoes over the dunes.   
  
“ _Fuck,”_ Guy ducks back down in the hole. For a moment, he strains to listen over his heartbeat pounding in his chest. Trying to locate where exactly the roar originated, how far away it might be and if he’s in any present danger of being caught. Several long and slow minutes pass before Guy pokes his head out again, as fretful as a groundhog.   
  
Across the red tinged sand from the setting sun, Guy sees rocks and sand and more rocks. There are dozens of long stretching shadows that reach out with gnarled fingers across the landscape. However, between all of that, Guy does not see Arkillo, nor does he see movement of any other kind. To his annoyance, what does sound after a moment, echoing over the empty terrain is the growling of his stomach. There is no way he will be able to survive out here with no food or water for any large amount of time. He needs to head back toward the tower, before night falls. Then he can reassess how he plans on getting inside.   
  
**??? - Evening**   
  
Guy has no idea how far the tunnel led him away from the tower, only that he is grateful for the sheer massive size of it.   
  
It is eastbound, a massive monolith that’s dark frame breaks apart the horizon where it travels up and up until the very tip of it seems to melt into the black night sky. With no lights, the several other moons of Tartarus Seven provide enough to at least make sure he doesn’t fall off any cliffs. It has been at least an hour since Guy has pulled himself out of the tunnel and there has yet to be any further sign of Arkillo. Not since the distant roar he heard hidden somewhere among the wastes. Everything is far too quiet, his heartbeat the only sound accompanying him.   
  
Occasionally, the wind shifts and his scaling down hills displaces a rock that crashes against others. The sound is jolting and sends Guy pressing himself against the rocks where he waits for his breathing to steady and silence to once again take over. It is a harrowing experience, far worse than what he had grown accustomed to in the forgotten prison tunnels.   
  
Worse, however, is the stink of his own sweat that even his own nose picks up the longer he continues his trek to the tower. If he can smell it, unfortunately, he knows that Arkillo, wherever he is, can too.   
  
Hunger eats at him as he pushes onwards. It is nothing compared to the pain of thirst that grows with every ounce of sweat that pours out of him. Unlike on Earth the desert here is still hot at night, the sand burns the soles of his feet with every pained step. Guy refuses to take off the now damp robes the guards have given him, despite the large tear in the back. He’d rather have some form of modesty, for the first time in his life, when his sexual wellbeing is on the line.   
  
Eventually, the hill he climbs comes to a crest. As Guy scales the top, he peers down into a sandy valley that opens up to a familiar flat expanse. From here he can see the base of the tower and, if he strains, the tent where Sinestro and Lash’s second-in-command conversed about breeding experiments.   
  
He’s so close. He can fucking taste it.   
  
Which is right when the hair on the back of his neck stands up, a slight tremor in the rocks beneath his feet forces him to leap off the crest of the hill. Behind him, almost noiseless in his approach until the last possible second, Arkillo lands. Guy cannot contain the yelp of surprise that slips from his throat.   
  
Exploding into motion, Guy hits the sand below in a half-formed roll. It takes a massive amount of adrenaline-fueled effort to push him up into sprinting. Arkillo doesn’t seem to notice the sudden drop, the sound of his footfalls never falters. It just sounds closer, about to pounce upon him with every inch they gain. There are dozens of rocks nearby, but Guy doesn’t know if any of them will have the cave system he found before. He can’t spend hours crawling through a cramped tunnel again, he’d much rather take the straight shot to the tower. Not that there is any chance he’d be able to get in this time, Arkillo is far too close. Digging his feet into the sand and propelling his body forward is the only chance he has.   
  
The tower comes closer with every step, the ground trembles beneath Arkillo’s feet, threatening to throw Guy off at any point. He can’t stop, he just forces every bit of energy he has left into his feet and throws himself forward. Stays out of Arkillo’s grasp, lungs burning in his chest as he gets closer and closer, crossing meters in the blink of an eye. He’s almost to the base of the tower, on what must be the South side, trying to figure out the best way to get in-   
  
Something, bright and yellow, materializes beneath his feet. Guy goes sprawling, tumbling across the sand in a roll that leaves him howling. Wrapping his arms back around his neck, he curls into a ball and waits for his body to lose momentum, until he’s half-curled in a painful c-position across the sand. For one slow moving second, Guy peeks up from where he’s landed, sand hanging on his lashes where he sees a strange yellow construct in the shape of a small, straight bar fade from view.   
  
_Sinestro._ Arkillo falls upon him.   
  
He tries to scramble away, clawing at the sand with curved fingers, Akrillo leans down and clamps his jaw shut around his neck. Guy howls, those sharp, long teeth sink into his neck like it’s made from thin paper. This isn’t the first time Arkillo’s bitten him, but normally, it’s accidental. Jaws snapping shut on his wrist when he throws a punch into that scaly snout, Arkillo prefers using his fists. For a good reason, it keeps enemies away from his vulnerable neck and throat. This is not an Arkillo he’s used to fighting with. Guy feels out of his element and thrust into deep, unknown water.   
  
Shoving an elbow back, Guy tries to catch Arkillo in the eye. Can’t tell if it hits where he’s planned but he does get something. Arkillo snarls, the sound traveling through his teeth in a powerful vibration that makes Guy’s own teeth clack together. He tries again with his other arm and a bit more force. This time Arkillo not only weathers the blow, but he picks Guy up by his throat, shaking him like a dog with a chew toy. Then those powerful teeth release him and he goes flying.   
  
Guy tumbles across the sand, limper than a ragdoll. The entire world is shaking, hazy white with pain that makes his attempts to stand no better than a drunk sailor on a ship mid swell. Not that he can even get to straight standing. Arkillo is there in a beat, headbutting Guy in his stomach, sending him onto his back. Quickly, Guy tries to punch Arkillo this time before he completely falls on top of him. It lands smack in the center of Arkillo’s massive chest, sharp pain radiating up the length of his arm. Arkillo doesn’t bat an eye.   
  
One giant hand catches him on the waist and flips him back onto his stomach. Before he can push himself forward something wet and slick coils around his throat and _tightens._ Guy coughs, straining for breath as Arkillo’s tongue snakes around him twice, teeth scraping against his forehead from how close they are. The spit from his tongue stings against the open puncture wounds from Arkillo’s teeth. Vornians better not be a poisonous species or Guy’s in a hell of a lot more trouble than being split apart by a cock.   
  
“Rather interesting way to show dominance don’t you think?” Guy doesn’t have to look up from where Arkillo’s pinned him to the sand to know Sinestro is close. “Most species don’t tend to use their tongues as a deterrent.”   
  
Above him Arkillo growls, a low and terrifying warning. He settles more over Guy, scaly chest flush against Guy’s exposed back. After a moment, Arkillo stands up, posture relaxing. Sinestro must have moved away. A shame Guy can’t bark out any smart-ass remark, the grip around his throat is far too tight for words. He goes limp, breath not getting through and for a moment the moonlight sands fade into one solid picture of inky darkness.   
  
Then he sucks in a sharp breath, coughing against the warm sand. Arkillo unravels his tongue, but leaves the tip proding against the corner of Guy’s mouth. Weak from asphyxiation, Guy starts to push himself up with one shaking hand. Arkillo stops him, grabbing his wrist and pinning it to the ground. The grip the Vornian has on him is like an iron band. Digging his fingers into the sand, Guy grits his teeth as Arkillo’s tongue slips inside the corner of his mouth.   
  
“Did you know, Guy Gardner, that Vornians have both sex organs? Majority of them live in groups of several dozen and will often form primary sex characteristics, male and female, in order for one group to not be held down by the needs of clutch carrying and rearing young. However, they always keep both, the secondary just lies dormant until a change might be needed.” Sinestro drones on, further away now, but close enough that Guy can hear him clearly. Rather unfortunate. “The change can be anything from pack dynamics, where one primary sex group is smaller than the other. Or when a Vornian is ostracized and goes out alone. The most common, however, is during breeding season. It’s take or be taken.”   
  
How is Sinestro able to put someone to sleep while they’re in the middle of being mounted by a giant, horny space lizard? The balls on this guy are impressive, it’s no wonder the Guardians were eating out of the palm of his hand until it was nearly too late. There’s no way to argue with him, however. Arkillo’s tongue finally pushes his teeth apart. Too thick to bite down on, Guy can only groan as it pushes down his throat, writhing and squirming against the hot walls of his cheeks.   
  
“Vornians rarely use their tongues during actual play. Arkillo must know somewhere in the back of his instinct-driven mind it is you, Guy Gardner.” Sinestro clicks his tongue. “He always did have a certain fondness for you.”   
  
_Lucky me._ A set of two claws pass over the line of his spine. Shivering, Guy chokes on Arkillo’s tongue as the Vornian tears the back of his clothes open. Ass fully on display, Arkillo rests one hand on a cheek and pulls it apart. Guy gags on Arkillo’s tongue, a muffled protest echoing off the rocks.   
  
“Do not fear, Gardner. You will need no preparation beforehand. Vornian genitals are covered in a layer of thick slick to ease the passage.” _Oh, sure, that makes it all better. Not like you were talking about all those other folks getting ripped apart by Arkillo’s giant dick and balls!_ Guy can’t actually see it, what Arkillo’s working with. Although Guy had been nude around plenty of Sinestro corps members in the past, he has never seen what the lizard had beneath his tight, compression suit. It doesn’t take long before he feels it, the press of something against his hole. Guy incorrectly assumes that Arkillo must be adjusting and what it is must be the brush of Arkillo’s thigh. However, Guy’s mind quickly corrects that information with the terrifying truth.   
  
Guy snaps his teeth down on Arkillo’s tongue. Holy shit. H-o-l-y f-u-c-k-i-n-g s-h-i-t. That thing is bigger than his goddamn thigh. The head of it is probably equivalent to his fist times two. No wonder none of the eggs successfully implanted if everyone had gotten fucked ahead of time by that damn thing. Arkillo hardly flinches when Guy tries to sink his teeth into his sensitive tongue. The Vornian purrs, letting his tongue resume it’s leisurely pace of moving back and forth when he finally wiggles it past the grip of Guy’s jaw. Nothing more than a minor inconvenience to ignore.   
  
Above him, their audience of one claps his hands, a bright laugh drowning out the embarrassing sounds of Guy gagging on Arkillo’s prehensile tongue. “Try not to fret. There is no one around to hear you scream.”   
  
Not that the action is possible. Guy’s grunts are far too muffled beneath the slick, squelching sounds of Arkillo’s panting mouth. The fear grows when what must be the tip of Arkillo’s tapered, giant cock presses against his pucker. It’s wet and slick with some slimy coating that Sinestro did inform him of no less than a moment ago. However, it’s still unexpected, too large. Guy groans when the head, moving far more than any human cock, starts to stretch the rim of his hole. For one split second, the pain is manageable. Not too intense, not too devastating and Guy breathes through his nose trying to remind himself to relax.   
  
Then the tip pops inside, and the stretch only continues to grow exponentially. Guy’s cock, having risen slightly from the physical stimulation (certainly not because there was something delightful about having a thick, warm appendage down his throat) then flags immensely. Guy claws his fingers through sand, unable to drag himself away from the cock already stretching him as wide as two human dicks might. He chokes on spit and struggles to get back his regulated breathing. There is hardly any room for his lungs to expand when so much of his body is being pushed apart. Tears sting at the corner of his eyes and he begins to sob, right as the tentacle-like prick reaches halfway inside.   
  
“Shh, Gardner, you are doing magnificently. Most of the others had already torn open by this time, you continue to surpass expectations. Even ones as low as mine.” A beam of yellow light flickers in front of his face. Guy strains to see, fighting off the blurred edges of his vision, disoriented from the ache of being so completely fucked open. The light manifests into a small, human sized hand. It comes close, slipping beneath Guy’s chest where it pushes through the sand. Until, to Guy’s shock, it wraps around his cock.   
  
He could cut diamonds he’s so hard. Sinestro, wherever he is, makes a noise of genuine surprise. “ _Fascinating.”_ _  
_ _  
_ Sinestro sounds about as excited as a teacher in the middle of dissecting a still living frog. Arkillo provides nothing more than loud wheezing out of his open mouth against the back of his throat. It helps, the distraction, take his mind off the damn firewood log being shoved into his back door. Might even blank out entirely, until the hand starts stroking his twitching cock. Apparently, there is nothing that Sinestro will not do to see Guy demeaned. Not that it was a hard thing to do, with the state he has been placed in. Made abundantly clear when Arkillo pushes him an inch forward along the sand, squeezing the thick middle section of his cock inside. Guy’s eyes roll back into his head, a wet pop ringing out.   
  
The construct on his cock continues to stroke him. Clever fingers teasing over his leaking slit, smearing the bit of precum around the sensitive skin of his head. Guy shivers, free hand only now trying to reach back to assess the damage. Arkillo’s tongue, mercifully slides free from his throat at that moment. Distracted by the sudden ability to breathe, Arkillo traps his other wrist against the ground. He’ll take it, sputtering drool and alien spit onto the dirt.   
  
“F-Fuck, ah,” Guy gasps wetly, turning his head to the side. Looking over his shoulder he catches the base of Arkillo’s massive, vibrantly colored cock. Funny, the only thing that really stands out against Arkillo’s grayish green scales is his dick. The universe is bizarre. Guy watches the fat base of it slowly disappear behind the red, toned cheeks of his ass. Definitely feels like he has an entire college football team all eagerly trying to shove their way inside. The fact he can manage it is nothing short of a miracle.   
  
Which must be why Arkillo then decides to slowly pull out, taut rim of his pucker already at its limits, just to see him sob. Sinestro, a man he always assumed too stuck-up for a reach around, jerks him through the process. Making sure that one moment does not go by where Guy is devoid of pleasure.   
  
“It will be better if you cum at least once,” as if reading his mind, Sinestro interrupts. “You are not able to lock onto his cock like another creature might. Clenching down during the aftershocks of orgasm will let Arkillo’s body know it’s time.”   
  
Suffice to say, Guy’s participated in a lot of human sex, and the production to make sure his partner never ended up pregnant was more complicated than _getting_ them pregnant. To be a giant space lizard hunting down a mate you can not only manage to fuck but impregnate.   
  
Imeggnate. Egg-pregnant. Damn it, what’s the word for putting your eggs in another person? Guy can’t think beyond crude vocabulary. A rather funny way to show that he has come to a grudging acceptance of what is to occur in his guts.   
  
He tries, desperately, to prevent himself from finishing, just to spite Sinestro’s stupid experiment. There is a plethora of pain that drowns out his mind from the agony of being pounded into the sand to call on. However, the longer his body grows accustomed to being split apart by a massive cock the more it starts to notice the smaller strikes of wonderful pleasure. The boon of being railed by a giant alien dick is that, to most likely no one’s shock, there is no missing his prostate. Something that Guy’s cock takes notice of far before his brain.   
  
Panting, Guy lifts his hips just so, the tapered tip of the prehensile dick pointedly pressing up and into his prostate like a blunt arrow. His stomach seems to push out slightly with every deep thrust, making the overwhelming sensation inescapable. Guy tries to keep himself from cumming, by God, he does. But it only takes a matter of moments after Sinestro’s comment for him to spill all over his stomach and the sand.   
  
“F-Fuckkk, nnn- _aah,” Eloquent as always, Gardner._ Shaking from the intensity of his finish, Arkillo stops. Lying slightly down atop Guy’s back and pushing him into the sand, Guy can do no more than tremble when being held in such a way. It’s nice, actually, like being spooned by a giant, rough heating pad. If he forgets about everything else, he could pretend that he is actually having a good time.   
  
That’s when things have to go wrong. Or, continue in the direction of going wrong. Arkillo shifts from where he’s laid atop of Guy, panting louder and harder as each second passes. A hiss of breath tickles the top of Guy’s ear and he tries to look back to see what the sudden change is. Fortunately, he doesn’t need to strain his neck to look to find out what is happening. Unfortunately, it is all a matter of feeling. The base of Arkillo’s cock starts to swell against his asschecks. Slightly, at first, just enough to catch Guy’s fading mind. Then it widens pushing down against the rim of Guy’s already burning pucker.   
  
“T-There’s, nnnn-no way,” Guy can’t find the strength to even shift his body, how can he take that thing inside him?   
  
“You have exceeded my expectations so far,” Sinestro says. “Let’s see if you can actually surprise me for once, Gardner.”   
  
“N-Not the way, ah, I wanna do th-aaaah that.” Above his head Arkillo groans. The knot at the base of his cock, the egg, that’s what it is isn’t it, splits Guy apart just by a fraction of an inch. It’s hardly anything more than what he’s been forced to take already. However, that little bit of extra width seems to be all Guy needs for him to wail, voice breaking partway through. Sinestro laughs.   
  
The pain mercifully, does not last long, though Guy is shaking as the egg passes inside of him, until finally it drops. For a moment, he hopes against hope that Arkillo, big as he is, can only produce one egg. Isn’t that how all the big animals on Earth, including humans, work? Only difference is that they are able to breed at different times throughout the year, or all year if they want. Doesn’t sound like Vornians have the same ovulation schedule.   
  
Guy can feel the next egg swelling at the base of Arkillo’s cock not even a half-second after the first has been nestled safely among his intestines. He groans against the sand, tongue covered in drool and dirt, focusing on his breathing. There is no telling when Arkillo will finish entirely, especially now that he’s started. It could be two or, fuck, ten. He hopes it’s not the latter. From what he can feel the eggs are about the size of a fat and ripe grapefruit. No way in Hell is his body going to manage more than a couple.   
  
_One of these bastards better realize that. Unless it’s what the damn fucker Sinestro wants._ All the ways Guy could die and here he is facing certain doom by egg-stuffing. He could die quicker from the embarrassment of such a demise.   
  
He doesn’t die from degradation, unfortunately. All he can do is lie flat, only moving when Arkillo grips his hips to angle them slightly up. It’s a better position, admittedly, a lot less pain due to the new angle helping the downward slide of the eggs. Not to mention there is less pressure on his stomach, which he can feel is slightly swollen due to the eggs. Guy keeps his face turned, eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see that purple cock swelling and deflating and count how often it happens. Ignorance is bliss and all that jazz. Incredible, how much Guy wishes he could at least be back on the floor of his cell. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about all the sand that’s slipping in alongside those eggs.   
  
Just when he thinks he is on the edge of passing out from the process, Guy feels something warm behind him, soft like sunlight. His mind is foggy and he tries to focus on what’s happening now. Arkillo growls, deep and low, territorial. Then, before he can think about it, that cock he has spent the last, what eternity, getting used to is suddenly pulled out from inside him. It’s about as comparable as being dunked into a freezer of cold water. Lightning strikes, loss and soreness sing up the length of his nerves tell him to clench down to stop Arkillo from pulling out so fast. He tries, desperately, but the muscles in his ass won’t obey, too exhausted from the mating. A cramp starts in his gut and Guy pales at the thought of all of those eggs slipping right out, just as painful as they came in-   
  
Something warm, like it had been around Arkillo’s cock, fills the space the Vornian left behind. The huge weight atop him disappears and Guy, pathetically rolls to the side, unable to keep himself up. Able to see now, Guy watches as Sinestro pins down Arkillo with the help of his ring. The giant alien fights against Sinestro but, without his ring, it does not take long to completely ensnare him in bands of yellow. In the distance from the tower, Guy sees a few dozen people rushing out from the open doorway Arkillo left hours ago.   
  
“Make sure he’s taken care of,” Sinestro barks out. With his ring, Sinestro easily transports Arkillo over the several meters between them. Once there, Sinestro holds Arkillo still while the guards wrap him in thick chains with a glowing collar around his neck. Guy blinks, mystified as he peers up at Sinestro.   
  
“Wha…” Guy’s tongue is far too thick to form the appropriate words. Sinestro snorts, lowering himself onto the ground with his arms crossed over his chest.   
  
“After depositing their clutch in a suitable host, Vornians will then seal them inside with a mucus-like plug formed from their own seminal fluid.” Sinestro says, about as irritated as a parent having to re-explain why a child can’t have cookies for breakfast. “Without the introduction of another creature’s genetic material the offspring would simply be clones of the Vornian who created them.”   
  
Guy furrows his brows, trying to push himself up onto one elbow. It’s a difficult task, but Guy manages it somehow, shaking slightly as he does. Another creature, does that mean that Sinestro’s going to-   
  
He must make a face because Sinestro curls his lip and snorts. “No. I will not participate in copulation of any form with you, Gardner. I would rather spend eternity in the timeless realm of the Phantom Zone.”   
  
_That makes two of us._ That doesn’t soothe any of Guy’s current fears in any case. Sinestro wouldn’t have said anything like that if the plan was to just leave Guy as is, plugged with a construct. There is no doubt in Guy’s mind that the last thing Sinestro wants to do is focus on making sure his second’s eggs come spilling out of his enemy’s gaping hole. Guy shudders at the thought. Can’t yet really believe the reality of this situation.   
  
“Then who’s the lucky bachelor,” Guy can’t keep lying down on the sand. He needs to get up, get moving again. There is no reason for him to remain cooperative now just because the first step was taken. Running is going to be a problem, not only with Sinestro keeping a sharp eye on him, but freshly weighed down by eggs is a whole new complication. Speaking of, Guy refuses to look down. From the way his stomach feels, bloated and painful from a foreign stretch, he’s not going to like what he sees.   
  
“He will be here in a moment.” Sinestro waves his hand in front of his ring. On it a small screen materializes from the center of his ring, projecting out. Sinestro, using his pointer finger, taps a few things on the screen. A cat-like smile spreading across his mouth. “It seems Arkillo decided to leave you with six. Two more than average, he must have high hopes for you, Gardner.”   
  
Six. Holy shit, six? Six as in six fucking eggs now resting inside his very delicate and fragile muscles and intestines? Try not to think about the movie _Alien,_ Guy. As far as Vornians go, they don’t seem to be born from the terrifying chestburster variety. No wonder he feels so weighed down, there’s no way he’d be able to squeeze through the same tunnel he’d crawled through before. Not in this condition.   
  
“Ah,” Sinestro lets the screen fade away. His gaze is drawn back to the tower, where the commotion between Arkillo and the guards has faded. “Here he comes now.”   
  
Guy looks up. The tower door is still open from where the guards have rushed out, though they have since moved away, beneath the tents Sinestro and Lash’s second were sitting hours ago. Arkillo is still restrained in bands of yellow, tight around his muzzle and arms keeping him pinned. Why would they leave him out, if only to keep him tied down? Bad to have all these unanswered questions, it means Guy can’t prepare for what comes next. And what does come steals the breath from his lungs.   
  
Kilowog walks through the open doorway, alive and, to Guy’s horror, naked as the day he was born. He steps out onto the now cool sand, looking first at the group beneath the tent and then ignoring them with a powerful snort. Guy can feel his stomach settle into his toes the very moment Kilowog’s eyes land on him. They are a terrifying, deep shade of maroon.   
  
“What-” Guy tries to force himself to stand. His legs fail to head him at first, shaking as he puts a small amount of weight on them. “What the hell do you think you’re fucking doing-”   
  
“If you must know, Gardner, I am in the process of trying to create a powerful new species,” Sinestro tuts. “Vornians are powerful warriors but they lack the intelligence and cooperation that is inherent to Bolovaxians with their hive mind telepathy. How easy would it be to enforce law and order when the officers in charge all have one singular desire, unable to be swayed? An army composed of various peoples with different ideals is rife with the possibility of dissent-”   
  
“I didn’t need the whole villain monologue about you creating your own special Aryan race, you space facist.” Guy sways, but he manages to stand. Kilowog, ever since laying eyes on him, has started to walk in their direction. It’s scarier than Arkillo’s four-legged sprint. Kilowog’s face is impassive, stony indifference radiating off every pore. “I meant what the fuck did you do to Wog?”   
  
“Nothing,” Sinestro sighs. “Gardner with how ignorant you are of all the other members of your league, I would think you would have at least tried to understand the biology of some of your good friends. Kilowog is in the Bolovaxian rut season known as Lunosikix, or proverbially called “lunar madness” by his people. It is when Bolovax Vik’s largest moon comes closest to the surface every ten years, plunging the planet into a long winter with most of the planet being bathed in the moon’s shadow. The planet is so cold the planet’s species would have to come together for warmth. Evolution turned a time that had once been focused on survival into a season of unquenchable lust.”   
  
“Thanks for the history lesson,” the ground begins to tremble beneath his feet. Kilowog is getting closer and even Sinestro is now giving him far more space than before. “I’m not a fucking Bolovaxian, though.”   
  
“No, you’re not,” Guy can hear the roll of his eyes. “But you managed to take Arkillo well enough. Kilowog is no greater in size. Now, you smell of Vornian heat stink. Alluring to anyone with a powerful sense of smell.”   
  
At the mention, Guy looks down without thinking. Unlike Arkillo, who must have some hidden orifice his cock had been hiding before, Kilowog’s is out entirely. It was enough feeling Arkillo before seeing it, only catching the fat base when he had nearly finished pushing inside. Watching Kilowog’s fat,bulbous cock bounce between two muscular thighs, long with a strange flat head and prominent base, drains the blood from Guy’s face. That thing is the same size as Arkillo’s? No fucking way, Guy would have felt that in his _throat_ if that were the case.   
  
He takes a step back and then another. The pain that lances up his spine nearly sends him crashing right back on the ground. Inside, he swears, he feels a weird shifting _clack_ noise coming from his stomach. If those are the eggs he swears he is going to go insane before the night is up.   
  
“If I smell so nice,” Guy grits his teeth. “Why isn’t Kilowog going after the source of it? Arkillo’s right there.”   
  
Arkillo, held down by Sinestro’s constructs and Lash’s guards, is no greater distance from Kilowog than Guy himself. There is a cloud of dust only just now settling from where he is, finally pinned entirely. No doubt looking about as inviting as a cooked turkey on Thanksgiving.   
  
“He’s already transferred his clutch,” Sinestro answers. “The heat scent is to draw a competitor in so that a Vornian can fight to dominate. If they were to lose such a battle, the stronger party would not _carry_ the clutch, but _inseminate_ the defeated Vornian. Only the strongest survive on Vorn, and if you are defeated in battle the resulting clutch should carry on the winner’s genetics. This is biology children learn. Though, I suppose you humans do care far too much about yourselves to teach reproduction of all intelligent life.”   
  
“Yeah well, the only aliens we thought existed were of the little green men variety.” _Or the ones American politicians are fear-mongering about hopping border wall fences at any given time._ He doesn’t think Sinestro will really understand the severity of said comment, or will make some equally degrading quip about humans being close-minded and stupid. Which, Guy agrees, but there is a time and place for a debate like that.   
  
“Hilarious,” Sinestro deadpans. “The Earth really is one of the most backwater rocks there are. You hardly make suitable pets let alone peace officers. At least none of your genetic material will be contaminating the clutch.”   
  
“Good, I wasn’t ready to be a parent yet,” moving further away only seems to capture Kilowog’s focus further. If there were any wandering glances over to where Arkillo had been, there are none now. Eyes entirely locked on Guy, he tries to think about how far he would get if he ran. “Are you going to trip me again if I bolt?”   
  
“No, because I doubt you’d be able to get very far. I would make up your mind soon, Gardner. Kilowog is almost upon you.” Sinestro smiles, all that’s left for him to do is twirl his thin mustache and he’d make a perfect Vaudeville bad guy. That being said, however, Kilowog is only a mere few feet from them now, probably less for someone his size. Guy considers for a moment sprinting as fast as he’s able, pushing through the pain in his back to do what exactly? Have Kilowog tackle him onto the sand with that third leg of a cock slapping against his back?   
  
Guy never gives up without a fight. But, in this situation, keeping himself in one piece and not torn apart by telephone poll width cocks so he can _see_ what Sinestro’s trying to accomplish might be a smarter play. After all, from the way Sinestro has been discussing this, it doesn’t sound like this has been a fleeting desire. Not to mention the implication that other prisoners have been used in this fucked up experiment before him. They could be other GLs with how carelessly Sinestro discussed their pain.   
  
Staying alive and in the loop comes before Guy’s safety and comfort, it’s a trade off he doesn’t want to make but must. Being a Green Lantern never did allow for the easy route.   
  
Kilowog stands in front of him, red eyes gazing down and taking him in. Guy straightens up despite the aches and pains that come, refusing to even show the slightest hint of weakness. He doesn’t look bad or hurt from what Guy can tell this close, wherever they took him they at least kept him in good health.   
  
Forcing a tentative smile on his face, Guy cocks his head. “Hey, big guy, you in there?”   
  
“He cannot hear you, Gardner, not in this state. Telepathy is the only way to reach him like this.” Guy ignores Sinestro’s annoying quip, instead focusing on the way Kilowog’s nostrils flare out. A deep rumble rises between them as he blows out a heavy breath that steams in the air. So far so good. He doesn’t know if he should reach out and attempt to touch Kilowog or let him move first. Some time passes, more than likely nothing more than several seconds, but each, to Guy, stretches on to eternity.   
  
Finally, Kilowog snorts and reaches out, fingers easily cupping Guy’s whole head. One large thumb presses against his mouth. Relieved, Guy kisses the pad of it, leaning his head into the touch. Kilowog huffs, light and soft and, if he dares say so, affectionate. Guy reaches up with both hands to rest them against Kilowog’s hand.   
  
“Yeah, it’s me, buddy.” He doesn’t get a response, not verbal at least. Kilowog simply rubs his thumb across Guy’s mouth before pulling it away, just so he can trail that hand down Guy’s chest. Guy shivers when Wog’s fingers skim over a pert and raised nipple, coming to a rest on the strange swell of his stomach. He can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, I’m not a big fan of the new look either.”   
  
Kilowog drops his hand, letting it fall to the side. Guy watches, careful but forcing down the anxiety that threatens to bubble over at any moment. No way to know if Kilowog can actually smell fear--like he always joked with the recruits--and will respond negatively to it, better to be slow and cautious. Easier on his muscles too, for that matter. Not that Guy has to wait in silence long, Kilowog moves after a moment of assessment. Leaning down, Kilowog turns his head to fit in between the crook of Guy’s neck. Drawing in a deep breath, Kilowog exhales softly, reaching out to wrap an arm around Guy’s waist and bring him flush to his chest.   
  
It’s, well, Guy tries and fails not to gasp at the press of Kilowog’s cock against his. Unlike Arkillo’s, Kilowog’s does not have a coating of slick on the outside of it. Guy can still feel that excess slick dripping down his thighs from earlier, which at least means Kilowog won’t cause any discomfort from dry friction. Will make things easier, and with the size of that cock, Guy’s going to need all the help he can. Without much effort, Kilowog turns Guy around, back against his chest before easing Guy down back toward the sand. As much as Guy would rather not get a face full of dirt on his tongue, it will be easier without having to watch. So he goes without much fuss, crossing his arms so he can rest his forehead atop them.   
  
Smoothing a hand down his back, Kilowog takes a moment to explore his skin. There’s a considering hum behind him, that burning red gaze skimming along the length of his back. Shivering, Guy turns his head to look over his shoulder just as Kilowog’s thumb rubs over his sensitive hole. Hissing, Guy groans when Kilowog, encouraged, slips his thumb inside with just an easy _pop._ It’s probably the size of an average human cock, comfortable and nice enough Guy’s eyes flutter shut. Breathing slowly, Guy lets out a little gasp as Kilowog slowly pushes his thumb in, dragging it against his inner walls. A moment passes, then two, before he slowly withdraws, a satisfied grunt resounding from behind him.   
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Guy’s so grateful no one can see the blush on his face. “All for you.”   
  
He assumes that must please Kilowog, because his comment earns him a firm slap high on the swell of his ass. Yelping, Guy growls once recovered, glaring over his shoulder as Kilowog, takes hold of that third leg of his. Wet from the slick, Kilowog uses that hand to smear the excess over the length of his cock. It’s not going to be easy, but at least Kilowog is aware enough to know it will be a stretch. Taking in a deep breath, Guy relaxes as best he can.   
  
Then, without much warning, Kilowog begins to press inside.   
  
It’s definitely bigger than Arkillo’s. So much for Sinestro’s assurances, as worthless as those were. Gritting his teeth, Guy digs his fingers into the crook of his elbows panting sharply at the intensity. Stars flash in front of his eyes and he tries, though fails, to keep himself from breathing too shallow. Kilowog is far too big a fit, there barely would have been enough room if Guy wasn’t currently stuffed full with six eggs. Kilowog, sex-crazed as he is, seems to realize that being gentle is a priority and just what kind of state Guy is in. So he pushes in by the inch, listening to Guy’s panting and the cracks in his tone. Chuckles lightly when Guy mewls like a wet kitten as the flat head of his cock presses against Guy’s throbbing prostate. Damn aliens trying to kill him with good sex. What happened to common courtesy?   
  
After what seems like a half-hour, Kilowog finally bottoms out. Pressing against his back, Kilowog places his hands down on either side of Guy’s head. Groaning softly, Guy shivers as Kilowog nuzzles his neck gasping softly as his hole flutters, failing to clench down. There is no way he’s going to be able to move, or have control over his lower body for quite some time after this.   
  
“God, you’re fucking big,” Guy wheezes, more in control this time around. “Don’t fuckin’ laugh or anything. Bet you like hearing that.”   
  
Kilowog, if what Sinestro said is even to be believed, doesn’t laugh. Digging his fingers into the sand, Guy moans as he feels him start to pull back, easing back out just enough until that flat head is only inside the loose rim of his pucker. Then, without much warning, snaps his hips forward hard enough Guy rocks forward against the sand. Shouting, Guy arches his back, nearly blown away by the sensation that washes over him all the way down to his toes. Kilowog leans back, licking up the sweat that’s broken out across Guy’s back and assesses his state.   
  
Seeing Guy hasn’t been killed by the rough thrust of his cock, Kilowog grunts his approval. Which is great, Guy’s always wanted to be known for his ability to take a cock the size of a bodybuilder’s thigh. It’s up there with some of his greatest achievements like single-handedly batting Mogo into a battalion of Black Lantern zombies. It was awesome, ask him about it later. Clearly, though that comes second to bouncing on a dick like it held the secret to world peace in its cum. God, what kind of analogies are these? Kilowog’s so big he must be fucking up the gray matter in his skull at this point. With a little groan, Guy starts spreading his arms out over the sand, trying to cling on something. Kilowog, unaware of Guy’s imminent about-to-be-blown-into-stupidsville-through-hard-fucking starts to rail him in earnest now.   
  
The flat head on his cock really does come in handy. It works to press up against the nearest egg and push it _deeper_ inside Guy’s cramped stomach. Leaving Guy a broken mess, drooling half-formed syllables into the planet’s surface. Unable to do anything else than mumble _ahhh_ or _mmm-ngh_ like a broken, erotic record as his eyes roll back. Worst of it all, only because there is no way he could be hard _this soon_ is the desperate twitching of his spent cock between his thighs. Stubborn, just like its old man.   
  
What the fuck is wrong with him.   
  
As it happens, with the eggs and Kilowog’s cock constantly shifting around inside him, not a moment goes by without something pressing against his prostate. A long time ago a girlfriend in college once slapped him across the face for holding a vibrator against her clit long after she begged him to turn it off. When he asked why she was so mad, she told him that, that much intense and direct stimulation toed the border so perfectly between pain and pleasure every part of her body had been spasming down to her cells. Since she had class in two hours she wanted to be able to walk and not be sleeping off what would have been the most powerful orgasm of her life. He thought that was a bit dramatic. Now? Having the same damn thing happening to his prostate, Guy finally understands what she meant.   
  
He’s positive he passes out at some point. Time seems to drag on for so long, he knows there must be gaps. At some point, Kilowog rolls him onto his side, picking one of his legs up and pushing it up for a deeper push of his cock. Guy watches, mystified at the little movement beneath the skin of his stomach every time Kilowog pushes in and draws out. His cock, so small compared to the two other aliens, bounces against his stomach, leaking clear fluid with every drag to his prostate.   
  
It doesn’t take long or much for him to cum again. There really is no build up, no crashing wave of pleasure that sends him careening over the edge. All of a sudden with a soft “ _mmm-aaah”_ he’s cumming, spilling whitish clear fluid all over the pushed out bump of his navel. Kilowog rumbles his delight behind him, making Guy’s teeth chatter from the force. He leans back, nothing more than a limp ragdoll as Kilowog shifts them again. This time with Guy on his lap, two hands on his hips pulling him up and down on his cock.   
  
Kilowog comes almost instantly after he’s settled. It only takes a few more times, bouncing Guy up and down, before there’s a rush of heat that grows inside him. Tearful, Guy presses his head against Kilowog’s chest groaning softly as the heat continues to grow, moving quickly from pleasant to uncomfortable with the lack of space the eggs give him. He expects it to end, quick and simple, like humans do. Except Kilowog keeps cumming.   
  
And cumming.   
  
Panting, Guy squirms a little, only for Kilowog to rest a hand on his abdomen and press him flush to his chest. Holding him still as he continues to fill him, far more than he ever imagined possible, even for an alien of his size.   
  
“Wh-..wha-”   
  
“Bolovaxians produce more...fluid when they enter their breeding season. I assume you can imagine the point of such a function, even in your dimwitted brain.” Sinestro slowly flies down, lowering himself to the floor only a foot or two away. He watches Guy twitch and spasm as Kilowog continues to dump load after load inside. “And he should be starting his-ah, there it goes.”   
  
Guy furrows his brows, and even that takes a monumental amount of effort to do. Sinestro’s cryptic words haven’t bode well for him the entire night, or night and day, since he started spouting off. He would demand Sinestro to just say what he wants to, but can’t really speak when he starts to feel Kilowog swell up.   
  
“F-Fuck, not...again,” Guy whimpers, legs shaking with each inch Kilowog’s cock grows. He doesn’t think he could take another egg, let alone the six already inside.   
  
“He is not reptilian, Gardner, he will not give you a clutch like Arkillo. He is simply knotting with you to ensure you are stuck together long enough that proper insemination takes place.” It sounds so much grosser when Sinestro says it, no matter how it soothes his fear or not. At least he isn’t due to be on the receiving end of another half dozen eggs, but the swollen base of Kilowog’s cock, his “knot” isn’t any easier to manage. At least the eggs moved past his rim, the knot on the other hand is stuck firmly in the middle of his overstretched hole. There is no way he’s going to be able to tighten up after this, gaping and open leaking what must be at this point a swimming pool’s worth of cum.   
  
“H-How, _nnn,_ long?” Guy can’t feel his toes. He’s not an empty garbage can waiting to be stuffed full, the pressure begins to push outwards and Guy refuses to look down at his body. Because there’s really only one place for it all to go with the exit blocked. _Ugh_ , he shudders.   
  
“Because you do not have the ability to lock down on the knot to keep it in place, it will most likely only last as long as it takes Kilowog to cum. Normally, a Bolovaxian will lock another’s knot in place, stimulating it through multiple orgasms. Unfortunately, you do not have such things as a human.” Yeah, real unfortunate that Guy is only stuck here for _one_ orgasm. Of all things he expected to occur to him while enlisted as a Green Lantern, this never made the top twenty.   
  
Complaints noted, Guy can already start to feel Kilowog’s knot deflate almost as soon as it formed. Without Guy’s, well, hole, providing any kind of proper constriction around it, Kilowog isn’t prompted to try so soon for another round. The giant is panting raggedly behind him, groaning as he rocks his hips forward and back in abortive half-thrusts. While Guy doesn’t know what exactly is happening inside him, the flat head is no doubt pushing those eggs much further from the exit point with every push. He’s going to have to get them out, which is hopefully sooner than what Sinestro wants. It might take some time, however, with the amount of cum that needs to leak out first.   
  
Definitely not going to be the most pleasant experience.   
  
Finally, after several long moments of quiet post-orgasm bliss, Kilowog pulls out with a disgusting pop. Guy tries to clench down, but his muscles can’t even manage a twitch in response. He is left, panting as he lies limp against Kilowog’s chest. That cock still pulsing against his cheeks. Above him, Kilowog takes in a soft breath.   
  
“Guy-?”   
  
That was definitely not Sinestro. Surprised, Guy summons the last of his strength, letting his head fall back to look up at Kilowog. The red has gone from his eyes, leaving a soft, pale green in its place. There is recognition there, slowly being quickly consumed by horror and realization. Guy can’t stand the pity, and the big lug hasn’t said a word yet.   
  
“Don’t you dare start-”   
  
Kilowog doesn’t get to start. Not at all. The moment Guy starts speaking a malevolent shadow made of sharp edges and vicious teeth, Arkillo, rises behind Kilowog. Arkillo sinks his teeth into Kilowog’s shoulder drawing a pained roar that chills Guy down to the marrow of his bones. The attack comes so quickly, so brutally, Guy can only manage little more than a surprised gasp. Before Kilowog can counter, Arkillo raises one hand in the air, swiping down with a harsh snap across Kilowog’s bare back.   
  
Before Arkillo can do any more damage, yellow light traps surrounds Kilowog in a skin-tight bubble protecting him from the next attack by Arkillo’s dangerous claws. Guy almost, for one moment, shouts out thanks to Sinestro. The quick response and subsequent aid to Kilowog’s defense is something that should not be overlooked, but as Sinestro lifts Kilowog out of the way, Guy finds himself slipping to the ground.   
  
Kilowog is out of the way. Guy is still very much in Arkillo’s sight. Standing over him, no hint of yellow light around him, no chains to keep him pinned, Arkillo grabs Guy by the ankle and drags him close. Is Sinestro planning to see him die before he gets his damn gift? What kind of idiot is he?   
  
“What the fuck, Sin,” Guy tries to kick out at Arkillo, but with how weak he’s become, the Vornian shrugs it off with ease. “I thought you wanted me in one piece.”   
  
“How do you expect the offspring to develop if your body is not meant for holding them normally? Vornian’s must seal them inside.” A loud thump. Guy looks back to see Sinestro drop Kilowog onto the sand below him. Yellow constructs pinning him down onto the sand. He can see, right now, the haze of red start to consume the soft green of Kilowog’s eyes once more. Shit. Looks like he’s not going to be getting out of this situation anytime soon.   
  
Completely pulled down, back to where Arkillo is sitting he sees that prehensile cock slip out from a small slit at the bottom of Arkillo’s naval, dripping. He can’t help it. After that he faints and stays unconscious, no longer able to rouse from the warm embrace of quiet darkness.   
  
**\---** **  
****  
**Guy doesn’t wake up all at once. He drifts in and out of light sleep where he thinks, no, knows that he is dreaming. Somewhere, beyond the haze of nonsense his mind feeds him while he recovers there are voices. Some of the words he recognizes, but not many. A few times he can feel the light skim of fingers brushing across the length of his back and sides. Much more often, there is the slight press of something between his thighs. There’s a small tightness there Guy doesn’t really understand, he doesn’t think it was there before in any case.  
  
Eventually, he gets tired of being asleep. Unconsciousness is a hard thing to fight but he manages it, clawing his way back into the waking world even though he fails twice and falls into deeper, restless sleep. Opening his eyes is a pain, his lids are heavy and stuck together by sleep. He is surrounded by delicious warmth and comfort, keeping his body still and off his aching limbs. The room, wherever he is, is too dark to make out much. He tries unsuccessfully to blink away the remains of sleep and look around the room for any identifying features but none come. He tries to get up.   
  
He can’t. In fact, he can’t so much as roll over, stuck in place on his side. Turning his head, he immediately almost suffocates himself by burying his face in two pillows.   
  
. . .   
  
Those aren’t pillows.   
  
“Guy, do not move.” It’s Kilowog’s voice, rumbling in front of him. Concerned and soft, beneath it all Guy can hear shame. He draws his head back and looks up in the dark, making out the shape of Kilowog’s silhouette. There is no glint of red that Guy can make out, thank God, and he’s speaking far more sense than he had been hours or however long ago.   
  
“You gotta think of a better greeting,” he jokes, his voice is dry and hoarse. “No water this time?”   
  
“No, sorry. We are not underground, not anymore, that much I can tell you.” Guy realizes Kilowog’s hand is what’s pressing against his back. He goes to relax, just slightly, and pain shoots up his spine. He hisses sharply and Kilowog shushes him softly.   
  
“I can assume what happened wasn’t some crazy, solitary-confinement-induced dream, huh?” Not that he would believe it to be anything less. It was far too real, the memory of it still making his body shiver from phantom touches across his thighs and stomach. God, his stomach. He refuses to look down, knowing what he will see.   
  
“No,” Kilowog admits. “I am so sorry, Guy, truly I am-”   
  
“Oh shut up,” Guy hates being pitied. “Wasn’t your idea. You were trying to stop yourself, back when we were in that cell together, weren’t you? Why you smelled like that, you were going into sex-mania or whatever it is.”   
  
“Bolovaxian heat season,” Kilowog strokes his back. It helps with some of the tension in the muscles. “I should have been able to control myself, I should have stopped.”   
  
“Listen, we can talk about the issue of consent during what might have been a drugged state of mind thanks to Sinestro’s meddling and where the fault lies after we get out of here.” And by that time, hopefully Guy will be able to squash down the feeling of helplessness and pretend, like all his other trauma, it never happened. Bruce can make fun of his problem with irritability later and they can both argue about how much sense it makes to avoid treatment by punching others in the face to solve their problems. “Right now I just want off this planet and these...things out of me.”   
  
Kilowog tenses, which is never a good sign. “Guy-”   
  
“If you’re about to tell me there’s no way to do that you can stay quiet, because I won’t be taking no for an answer here.”   
  
“I tried already,” Kilowog says, a little embarrassed and quiet. “While you were asleep. I tried to help...induce an early labor but saw that a mucus plug had already formed. There is no way to get them out until the plug breaks.”   
  
It’s probably the exhaustion that keeps Guy from freaking out as much as he wants to. Because, all things considered, he’s taking the whole pregnancy with an alien litter with a rather cool head. No doubt better than any of the others would, Jordan would have probably combusted by now. “Ok, so cut them out.”   
  
“And let you bleed out?” Kilowog snorts, warm air puffing over Guy’s face. “I would sooner stop than aid you.”   
  
“Not just cut them out and hope for the best,” Guy growls. “I mean have someone else do the snipping and then stitch me up.”   
  
“From what I have heard so far it is in Sinestro’s interest to see you through this intact. I doubt anyone would be willing to go against his command.”   
  
“Yeah, well I don’t want any of the cronies to be in charge of taking a knife to my insides. I was more or less aiming to get off this miserable rock and back to Oa or some other planet with far more welcoming inhabitants.” Guy doesn’t know what’s left of the corps. Sinestro said a few of the human lanterns were still out there, Jordan was one of them. Hal wasn’t so useless as to sit with his thumb up his ass just because his ring decided to stop working. There’s a pretty good chance that he’s been able to form some kind of resistance in the meantime, hopefully he’d been in the company of other League members when it happened.   
  
He’s got a chance to get out of this little experiment Sinestro’s set his heart on before anything can happen to him, or the poor child soldiers Sinestro’s decided Guy would make the perfect incubator for. They have to escape and get out of here. Or else, Guy doesn’t want to consider what might happen if everything goes according to Sinestro’s devious plan.   
  
“Please tell me you know a bit about Vornian biology. These things are going to burst out of my chest are they?” With no exact way to escape or help himself for the time being, especially since moving is not an option, assessing his biggest fears first is the next step.   
  
“Why would they burst out of your chest? That would require far more effort than a hatchling is able to summon.” Kilowog sounds disgusted and horrified. “I thought humans were mammals with live births similar to Bolovaxians. Is that how humans spawn?”   
  
“No, god, nevermind. It was from a movie. Just ignore me.” While it doesn’t provide much of a relief, mostly because he’s trying hard not to focus on the word “birth,” he’s glad he doesn’t have to worry about gaping holes in his chest. “I’m tired.”   
  
“You have been asleep for some time now. I’m not sure how long, Arkillo’s chambers don’t have much light in them anyway. I haven’t been able to tell how much time has passed.”   
  
“Arkillo’s chambers?” Guy’s not too sure he likes the sound of that very much.   
  
“Sinestro thought it would be best to make sure your state was monitored by someone who was an expert in Vornian reproduction. That would be Arkillo,” Kilowog pauses, then tacks on with an annoyed huff. “He also threatened violence if Arkillo did not have access to you whenever he wanted. I think the Vornian is far more attached to you than what even Sinestro realized.”   
  
“Limited hot commodity, flying off the shelves,” Guy grumbles and leans back against the bed. Kilowog lets him go so he can lie down flat, only for his body to suddenly lock up at the sudden sharp pressure against his spine. At the sound of his yelp, Kilowog turns him back onto his side.   
  
“There’s too much weight pressing on your internal organs from the clutch you’re carrying. Lying flat on your back will probably be impossible for the time being.” _Thank fuck he wasn’t a stomach sleeper._ It is, however, the worst injustice Guy has ever been forced to endure, unable to sleep comfortably because of a gallon of alien cum and a baker’s dozen eggs. Awesome.   
  
“I am going to go to sleep again, and I’m going to pretend everything that’s currently happened is just a very bad dream.” Guy turns his head, burying it again in Kilowog’s chest. Sue him, it’s better than the two pillows currently flat as pancakes under Kilowog’s arms. He’ll think about an escape plan later when he wakes up and decides he is ready to accept his current reality.   
  
Jordan better be working on a plan.


End file.
